


Lovers in League with Satan

by TalesFromPerdition



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Witch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesFromPerdition/pseuds/TalesFromPerdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam could trace it back to Brady – his best friend from elementary school – who had made him watch some stupid movie about witchcraft and decided that he was going to be a witch." AU in which Sam is a powerful witch, was never marked by Azazel, but is still the Boy King. But what is the Boy King?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers in League with Satan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msbrokenbrightside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbrokenbrightside/gifts).



**"Lovers in League with Satan"**

Words: 4500  
Rating: Explicit  
Warning: Light bondage  
Note: Unbeta'd and unproof read as it is 3am and this was a prompt by msbrokenbrightside on tumblr that I apparently liked too much. (My tumblr is talesfromperdition)

* * *

Sam could trace it back to Brady – his best friend from elementary school – who had made him watch some stupid movie about witchcraft and decided that he was going to be a witch. Brady had been obsessed with the stuff, searching the library and websites for spells of any purpose. They had tried love potions made with nutmeg and curses made with cinnamon, and Sam had always doubted the validity of it (what self respecting witch created used spices?), but he always went along with his best friend because it wasn't like he had anything else to do or any other friends.

They were thirteen when Brady dragged him down the old dirt road at eight-thirty at night. Brady had a cigar box in his hands, and Sam watched the sweat bead at his forehead. The shorter boy pulled his jacket closer to his body, shivering in the cool September air.

"I'm going to get grounded," Sam said, pulling his hood lower over his face. He let out a puff of air and could see his breath. "My curfew is at nine and it's going to take at least ten minutes to walk back from out here."

"This won't take long," Brady whispered, stopping in the center of the road. They were at an intersection, and Sam looked down in all four directions. Fog was creeping in, and there were no headlights to be seen. When he shivered again, this time it wasn't because of the biting cold.

The younger Winchester watched as his friend knelt down, digging a hole in the dirt. He placed the cigar box inside, then covered it with the earth. After a second, Brady stood back up, shoving his fists into his pockets.

The teenagers were quiet for a few moments, eyes dancing at the four corners of the crossroad, waiting for something to happen.

"Brady, we need to get going. If I'm late again, I –"

"There are two of you," A voice said, cutting Sam off. The boys turned to face the source. Sam could hear Brady's sharp inhale, and the smaller boy knew why: She was Brady's type. It was almost like someone had known every not-so-secret fantasy Brady had and combined it in one girl. She had straight, black hair. Her black eyeliner was thick around blue eyes. Her black pants were tucked into combat boots, and her shirt advertized Brady's favorite band.

And she was at least fifteen.

Brady took a step toward her. She crossed her arms, frowning at him. Disinterested and vaguely annoyed at everything in general. Definitely Brady's type.

"Who's that, Brady?" She asked, eyes darting to Sam.

"You know my name?" He asked instead, a small, dopy smile forming on his face. She shot him a look, and he straightened his posture, swallowing hard. "He's my best friend. His name's Sam Winchester. We want to be witches."

"Witches, huh?" The girl asked, turning her eyes back to Brady. She stepped toward him. His friend was taller than Sam, but the girl was a couple of inches taller than Brady. Brady liked them older, taller. He liked girls who told him what to do. She put her hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing a small circle over his shoulder blade. "Nobody comes to a Crossroads Demon for witchcraft, Brady."

"I didn't know what else to do," Brady admitted, his breath coming out as a contented sigh.

"Well, the appeal of witchcraft is usually the longevity." She draped her other arm over his shoulder, pressing her body flush against his. Brady was beat red, and Sam could feel his own body heating up with embarrassment from seeing it. "If you make a deal with me, I can only give you ten years. Ten years is a long time, but not for a witch."

"W-what should I do then?" Brady whispered, turning his face to brush his lips against her face.

One time, Sam had walked in on Dean and his best friend Castiel watching porn. The pair of boys hadn't noticed him, and Sam couldn't so much see the screen as hear what was happening. Sam could remember the sultry voice the girl was using to speak to the boy as she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him.

The girl's voice dropped, and she sounded just like the girl in the porn did as she said, "I like you Brady. I really like you a lot. Let me propose a new deal. And, just so you know, people don't usually get a deal like this from me. How about I give you an old Grimoire? The book itself will be able to teach you very powerful magic, and in ten years, someone will come to see you. If you've made adequate progress, you can keep on carrying on. If not, I'll have to ask my dogs to bring you home."

"What's progress?" Brady asked. "I'll just have to be a good witch?"

The girl giggled, and it sent shivers up Sam's spine. "Not a good witch. A bad witch, Brady. A very bad, naughty witch. Could you be a naughty boy for me, Brady?"

Sam could hear Brady gulp from ten feet away. The boy was still beat red, his hands finding the girl's hips with his eyes closed. He nodded, licking his lips.

"Good," she whispered. "We demons need to seal the deal; you know, make it official. We do this with a kiss. Is that alright? Would you mind kissing me, Brady?"

Sam looked away, but he could still hear them. After a second, the girl stepped back, but Sam kept looking up the road, wishing headlights would run straight at them. Brady just made a deal with a demon, right? All that witchcraft stuff, that had only been for fun, hadn't it?

Maybe this was just a big joke. A big, elaborate prank that Brady was pulling to embarrass Sam and ruin his high school life.

Sam could only hope.

"What about Sam?" Brady asked. "Does he get the same deal?"

Sam could feel the girl's eyes on him. He looked up, trying to be brave. He could feel something, suddenly, like he was being invaded. With all his heart and soul, he tried to push back, to push the mental invasion away. The girl smiled.

"No," She said. "He can be the first member of your coven. Now you've already turned one soul, so you're well on your way to a long life as a witch. And just remember boys, we're all lovers in league with Satan." She held out her hands to Brady and suddenly, a large, black book appeared in her hands. "Good luck."

When Brady took the book, the demon disappeared. Brady grinned, and the pair of them started walking back down the road. Sam checked his watch, realizing he would make it home with time to spare. The weird thing – it was something Sam never told Brady about that night – was that when they stepped out of the crossroads and started walking back toward the woods, Sam could have sworn he heard a voice, a whisper, echoing off the hills.

" _The Boy King Arises."_

* * *

Over the next ten years, Sam learned two things. One, he was significantly better at magic than Brady was, and two, all of his problems could be traced back to Brady.

The taller boy – who used to be the shorter boy, but ten years had added several feet to Sam's height – had an intuition about it. He didn't need silly incantations. He didn't need the Grimoire to tell him how to mix a potion for a chance at something happening. Sam Winchester was a natural witch.

And it infuriated Brady.

Sam never used his magic for personal gain. He deserved every grade he got, and he never poured over a cloth with a pentagram on it to succeed at sports. He occasionally used it in a way he should more often – to take away an old lady's pain so she could enjoy knitting without her arthritis for a few hours or to heal a child who had fallen on the playground – but for the most part, he used it to gain access.

Hey, he was going into law. If he used his powers to occasionally persuade a convicted murderer to give details about more bodies or to find proof that someone was innocent or guilty, that wasn't really  _personal_  gain. Even if Sam did benefit from it.

And either way, witch or not, Sam always prayed. He prayed for the angels to protect his family; he prayed for the things he would never use magic to get. He prayed to get into Stanford, and he prayed that someday, someone would be able to love him, even with the taint his witchcraft left on his soul.

Sam hadn't realized that it was the tenth year anniversary of Brady's deal until his friend texted him a picture. The taller boy unlocked the front door of his apartment, shutting the door behind him before he unlocked his phone to look at the picture.

It was a girl's naked back. She was on her hands and knees, it looked like, and her head was angled to the side. Dark hair, dark make up, blue eyes. Brady's taste hadn't changed in ten years. The caption read,  _"Best. Anniversary. Ever."_

Sam texted back,  _"Lovers in league with Satan, huh?"_  before he sat his phone down on the kitchen counter and walked to the bedroom.

He should have known, and that was the reason why the sight of the man sitting on the edge of his bed caused him to raise his hand, palm extended, feeling the magic course through his body. Both he and Brady had put sigils and wards all over their apartments to ward against demons (although apparently Brady was still not as good as Sam when it came to magic, judging by the picture), and Sam should have been able to feel the disturbance in his sanctuary the moment he stepped in.

It surprised him, but nobody had gotten the better of Sam Winchester in ten years. Surprise was under-shadowed, just slightly by his curiosity. He demanded, "Who are you?"

The man stood, and Sam's eyes darted to the light, flicking it on with a thought. The man's features changed slightly – his neutral expression softened – and Sam took him in. Tall, but still shorter than Sam. Blond hair, blue eyes. Boring clothes. Nothing screamed demon, but Sam wasn't Brady, and he didn't have a definitive type.

"You know me," the man said. "You're a very powerful witch, and all those who serve can recognize the master. You are a lover in league with me, aren't you?"

"You're Satan?" Sam asked. Although his hand and magic didn't waver, his confidence did. If everything they knew about witchcraft was right – that they were slowly damning their souls to hell with each spell they did – and this was, in fact, the leader of hell, what chance did Sam have to defend himself?

"Lucifer, actually," the man said, stepping forward. He extended his hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Sam."

Sam kept his palm out, though he doubted it would be threatening to the man before him. The witch narrowed his eyes, "Brady gets a hot demon chick and I get sent to be collected by the devil? How is that fair?"

Lucifer let his hand drop back to his side, and his attention dropped momentarily to Sam's hand. His blue eyes darted back to meet the witches. "You misunderstand. I'm not here to bring you home, not yet. You're one of the finest witches I've ever seen – if a little unmotivated – and you won't return home until you're ready too, I assure you that." Sam frowned, trying to throw a more intimidating look at the man. He bit back the brightest witch of her age comment. "And devil is accurate because of circumstance, but I'm not a demon. I'm an angel."

"Fallen angels still count as angels?" Sam asked, lowering his hand just a fraction. Curiosity was winning out over self-preservation. It was a dangerous habit, but it made things interesting.

Lucifer took the slight movement as a sign of a personal victory. He reached up, pressing his cool palm against Sam's. His fingers laced through the bigger ones, and he lowered them together, stepping closer to the witch. "Of course. Nothing was taken from me when I fell except for my home and my father's and brothers' love. I still have my powers, as you are well aware since you, too, have power. And I can still hear the prayers of the faithful."

"You mean…?" Sam started, but trailed off.

"I do. I've heard you, Sam. Every night for ten years. You, who could take anything you wanted, have faith that some higher power will grant your wish instead. You are fascinating," Lucifer's thumb brushed against Sam's skin. "I had to meet you. My most faithful servant."

"I didn't pray… I mean, it wasn't to  _you_."

But Lucifer just grinned. "You prayed to a higher power, not God. You prayed to the angels. And I'm an angel, Sam. I'm your angel. And I will grand your every wish."

The witch tried to remember every prayer. He always prayed for his family's safety, and they were safe. He already received his prayer to get into Stanford; was that Lucifer's doing? He always prayed that someone could love him, and…

Lucifer kissed him.

There was a difference, Sam knew, about being a lover in league with Satan and being Satan's lover. But Lucifer's lips were cool, and Sam felt like he was on fire. Lucifer's free hand gently cupped Sam's cheek; the pads of his fingers brushing against the prickly skin of his day-old scruff like he had never felt anything before in his life. The kiss remained closed lipped and short, and when Lucifer pulled back, Sam's tongue darted out to wet his lips without his permission.

"Is that a perk of the job?" Sam asked, heart hammering in his chest. "You get our souls and you get to fuck all the witches and demons you want?"

"I fell because I could not look at human beings with all their flaws and imperfections and love them more than my Father, He who was so perfect and flawless. I corrupted those He loved so much to show to Him how wrong he was, but He never listened," Lucifer's thumb traced over Sam's bottom lip. "I hate humans, Sam. And I hate demons and witches even more. I've never touched one before, not with intent… not like this."

"Then why me?" Sam asked, resting his forehead against Lucifer's. Their hands were still joined together, and Sam squeezed his fingers just a bit tighter.

"You should have a claim on your soul. You do witchcraft, so that means we should have a contract on you. Your soul should automatically come to us. But your soul shines bright and clear with your faith and love. There's no taint. That is impossible, Sam. It has never happened before."

"And you want it?" Sam asked. "If I… if you love me like I prayed someone to love me, will that mark my soul so you can take it?"

"No," Lucifer whispered, opening his eyes and leaning back so he could look at Sam. His pupils were dilated, and Sam could hear himself gulp, just like he had heard Brady ten years ago to the day at the crossroads.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I would never lie to you, Sam. I would never trick you. I don't need to lie or trick anyone. I deal with truth, and I will admit that I want it. But I want more than your soul, Sam. I want you."

Sam ripped his hand from Lucifer's palm. The angel didn't resist, but Sam set forth a burst of magic anyway. He wasn't sure if he caught Lucifer off guard or if he truly had that much magic, but the angel stumbled backward slightly. Sam kept the momentum going by pushing at his hips.

Lucifer back peddled until his legs hit Sam's bed frame, and he fell onto his back.

The witch followed him, tucking his legs on to either side of Lucifer's lap before leaning over and kissing the angel. If Lucifer wasn't lying – he said he wouldn't, didn't he? – and he had never kissed anyone before, then he was a fast learner. His hands went to Sam's hair, holding it back while holding the man down on top of him. They kissed like that for a long moment, before Lucifer tried to take control.

Sam sat back, sending a wave of magic out of his being. Lucifer made a small sound of surprise as he found his hands bound and above his head. He struggled momentarily against his restraints, and his controlled face slipped into a brief moment of panic, before it settled in to awe.

"You… you really are the Boy King."

Sam put his hand on Lucifer's chest over his shirt. Suddenly, the angel's clothes were gone, and he trembled. Sam moved his body to one side of the angel, letting his hand trail across the naked body. He paused his hand over his hip bone before taking Lucifer's erection in his hands, stroking him lazily. "What is the Boy King?"

"My Father, when…" Lucifer gasped. He strained against the restraints, and he struggled to keep his hips from thrusting up into Sam's warm hand. The witch smiled. He hadn't been lying. Nobody was that good of an actor, not even the devil. Sam hummed, prompting Lucifer to continue, and the angel struggled to make words. "He had my brother cast me out, told me that one day I would realize that I was wrong about humans. He said one human would show me, and everything would be reconciled. My brother, Michael, he called this human the Boy King." Lucifer let out a loud, needy groan. "Not King like the Kingdom of heaven. He won't be the second coming – not  _that_ Boy King – but one who would save everyone all the same."

Lucifer's eyes were closed, and when Sam licked his lips and ducked his head, letting the soft skin of Lucifer's erection slip into his mouth, the angel bucked wildly against his restraints, crying out. Sam leaned back, looking up at the blond's face. "Do you want me to let you out?"

"No," the angel cried, eyes shooting open. "No, please. Nobody has ever had this power over me before. Please, Sam. With your mouth… do that again?"

It was a statement, Sam knew, but the inflection made it a question. It wasn't a command, and Sam was happy to oblige. He used his mouth in conjunction with his hand; his saliva easing the painful friction into a more pleasant slide. Lucifer sighed with it, tilting his head back and to the side, resting his nose against his bound arm.

Sam kept the pace slow and even, trying to build up to a simmer without boiling over. The pleased sounds that came from Lucifer were quieter, tamer, and Sam could only take so much until he needed to hear the angel come apart again.

He felt his magic burning inside him before his fingers grew slick. It was more than he needed, it dripped from his fingers and fell onto his comforter, but that would clean. He sent a shock of magic out, and Lucifer's legs jerked apart. The angel cried out, eyes opening, and Sam grinned up at him.

He liked it… Lucifer liked it when Sam displayed control like that. The witch raised his eyebrows, lowered his mouth back down to Lucifer's cock, and pressed his slick finger against his opening. He didn't push in – he just felt and soothed – but the angel relaxed far faster than anyone else Sam had been with.

"Are you going to fuck me?" Lucifer asked, eyes still open, watching Sam's head bob.

The witch pulled back and smiled, "Would you like me to?"

"Yes," the angel said, spreading his legs wider and tucking his tailbone to give Sam easier access, as if he needed more of an invitation. Sam pressed the finger in, murmuring praise against Lucifer's thigh. The angel shook, and it took Sam a moment to realize that it wasn't from the insertion or effort or fear… it was from the praise. Sam pressed a kiss against Lucifer's skin, and enunciated more clearly. In a handful of seconds, Lucifer whined, "I can't feel pain. I'm an angel. Just fuck me."

Sam bit Lucifer's thigh, a gentle reprimand and Lucifer hissed. "No."

"But I can take it."

"And I said no," Sam said, pulling his finger from angel's body. He started to protest, but Sam sent a burst of magic to re-slick his fingers before pushing two back in. Lucifer arched his back for a moment before he settled back down, giving in to the way Sam nuzzled against his thigh. "If you could be the one who ends up loving me despite my faults, then I need to show you that I could love you, too."

"Sam," Lucifer whimpered, trying to rock his body down onto the fingers. "Sam."

The witch took his time, letting long minutes pass before pulling out, using his magic to re-slick his fingers with the lubricant and push three in. He was careful – he was more gentle and loving than he had ever been with another person, let alone on their first time together – and Lucifer was lost long before Sam realized he was open and relaxed enough.

Sam got on his knees between Lucifer's legs, his hand releasing Lucifer's cock to trail up the naked torso. "I could finish you like this," Sam offered. "You're close now, and we could save sex for another time."

"No," Lucifer said, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth. It was angry red from the force, and Sam leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss against the mark. The angel said he didn't feel pain, but Sam would have taken it from him if he could. "I want to."

"I'm going to let your hands go," Sam said. "You can hold me if you want."

"Sam," the angel groaned, and the witch wrapped his hand around his own cock, transferring the lubricant. He leaned over, lining himself up, letting the head rest against Lucifer's opening to let the angel prepare as much as he could for it. As he started to push in, he let his magic zap back into his body. Lucifer's arms rolled toward him instantly – a soft sound escaping the man's mouth as he fought the cramp from the position – and he wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders. He didn't take control, he didn't force Sam anywhere, but he guided his face toward his lips, and Sam kissed him.

The kissed, slow and lazy, until Sam was fully inside the angel. Whether or not he could be hurt, Sam gave time to let Lucifer adjust to the stretch of it before he started moving. Once he did, the angel's hands trailed over Sam's back. Every so often, Lucifer's fingernails caught on Sam's back as his breathing hitched, but it wasn't a very good angle for that.

Sam made sure to keep the pace slow at first, but he was only human, and most human males had a hard time fighting the urge to orgasm. When Lucifer's fingernails dug in once, Sam growled and snapped his hips forward. The angel gave out a long, wanton moan, and his hands moved from around Sam's shoulders to his front. His finger slid down the man's sides before gripping at his hips.

Lucifer tugged with his hands, pushing his heels into the mattress to gain some leverage to roll his hips in time with Sam's thrusts.

The witch propped himself up on his arm, using his other hand to grasp Lucifer between them and stroke. He was close – really close – and he needed Lucifer to get off before him. Luckily, the angel was right there with him. It wasn't long before Lucifer cried out – a sound that was ripped from him without his will – and he was coming on own chest. Sam stroked him through it and, if he was with anyone else he would have pulled out in fear of hurting him with overstimulation. However, Lucifer's fingers were like a vice, keeping Sam's hips thrusting into him even through his own orgasm, and one look at Lucifer's content, relaxed face sent Sam over the edge with him.

Sam curled his back, resting his forehead against Lucifer's cool chest as he slipped free. He let himself have a long moment – his magic was buzzing with energy but lethargic after large meals and orgasms – before he willed his magic to gather a wet washcloth and get set to the task of cleaning them.

"You use your magic like telekinesis," Lucifer commented, his voice deep and rough. "That is incredibly rare for a witch to have such precise control to use magic as if it were another hand."

"I guess I'm just special," Sam said after he was finished. He sent the washcloth to the laundry basket, and Lucifer chuckled when it splatted into the wall, using it as a backboard before falling into the hamper.

The angel wrapped his arm over Sam's shoulder, keeping the human to his chest. "That you are."

* * *

Brady was not happy, but Brady was never happy it seemed, and Sam was a terrible friend for thinking it, but for once, he didn't care. His friend was deemed worth enough to keep on being a witch – though he didn't get the same promise that Sam got of  _whenever you're ready to come home_  – but Brady didn't get to keep the demon.

She had a job to do, and people's souls to take.

"It isn't fair," Brady whined over his pint of beer, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. "You never even wanted to be a witch. I know you blew out that candle at that  _séance_  we had when we were eight. Tell me, Sam… how is it fair that you get to be the better witch  _and_  you're fucking the devil."

Sam laughed around his own beer, but Lucifer gripped at Sam's thigh beneath the table. He found Brady, like he found all other humans except for Sam, grating on his nerves at the best of times. He narrowed his eyes at Brady, like any negative thing he had to say about Sam was a personal slap to his own face. "It's fair because he's the Boy King."

"What does that even  _mean_?" Brady asked, putting his head down on the table.

"It means I'm just a lover in bed with Satan," Sam grinned at Lucifer, who rolled his eyes under the bar light. "That's all."


End file.
